


Silver In Your Veins

by Damatris



Series: A song you know's begun [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, OR IS IT, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Pre-Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, jaskier is in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23199709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damatris/pseuds/Damatris
Summary: Perfect, Jaskier thought.There was a monster coming for them, a half unconscious Witcher, a loyal horse and a silver sword he could barely hold up. Just as he had planned his evening going.(works also as a stand alone fic)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: A song you know's begun [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660609
Comments: 115
Kudos: 1385





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Having read the he series isn't necessary. Although, the very first conversation references the previous one.

"Hey, the Mud Wolf, wait up!" Jaskier called out trying not to fall on a rain slicked mossy slope. "Some of us have shorter legs!" 

"Don't call me that. I'll give you a fucking concussion myself," came Geralt's kind reply. 

"No you won't. You like me too much!" Jaskier said cheerfully hurrying to catch up. "What if you scrambled my brain for good? There'd be no one to chronicle your quests." 

"A blessing." 

"Come on. If not for me, you'd still have a horrible reputation. Well, worse than you have-" 

"Noooooooooow! Ow, shit, bloody hell!" Jaskier cursed from the ground where he had a perfect view of the moss. It was mocking him with its innocent greenery, he swore. At least he hadn't landed on his lute or twisted an ankle. "Why, o', why are we taking this death trap of a path?" 

"It's the shortest way. Pay attention and you'll be fine. If Roach can make it so can you," Geralt stated and Roach snorted as if in agreement. 

"She has four legs. How is that a fair comparison?" Jaskier complained dusting off his clothes. 

He really didn't understand why they were hurrying. It wasn't as if they had an appointment to make or a bloodthirsty monster to kill. They were just traveling from one town to another. Jaskier was half convinced Geralt decided to take this so called short cut just to annoy him. He could be such a petty bastard. 

True, it technically was a road. A decade ago. Now it was an overgrown mess of shrubbery, loose stones, mossy slopes and winding paths carved in hillsides. It made for a truly lovely trail. According to Geralt it would cut two whole days but that'd be useless if they broke their necks traversing it. 

"Can we at least take a rest on the next level part? I'm not lagging behind for fun you know," Jaskier asked making his way gingerly towards the relative safety of bare rock. 

"No." 

"Then you can start preparing to carry my collapsed body. I know you wouldn't let me ride Roach," Jaskier pouted. 

"I'll just leave you laying there. Get up and follow me whenever you're ready," Geralt grumbled without looking back. 

Geralt truly had no compassion for bards and their weaker constitution. Even if he was much more fit than most of his profession Jaskier mused. A bonus he hadn't planned. 

Valdo Marx wouldn't last an hour. Feeling much happier than a minute ago he picked up a more Witcher approved pace. 

Eventually Geralt did call for a stop. To rest Roach before they started the next climb he said. Of course he would care for Roach's endurance but not Jaskier's. Not that he was jealous of her. Roach was an amazing horse who deserved only the best. Even if she had been very nippy and happy to step on Jaskier's feet at first. And could still match her owner's temper when it suited her. But they had reached an understanding born from scratches and sweet treats. It wasn't bribing no matter what Geralt's stares had wordlessly implied. 

There were plenty of things to be grateful to her. Breaks being one. 

Sighing in relief Jaskier sat down in the first dry spot he saw and stretched aching legs in front of himself. As much as he pestered Geralt just for the sake of it, he really was tired. A familiar feeling when traveling with the Witcher. Taking a few deep breaths to calm his still thumping heart he watched Geralt. The man was tending to Roach, offering oats from his palm. There always was a rare gentleness when he interacted with her. It was sweet. A rush of affection made his finally slowing heart to speed up again. 

Swallowing his feelings down Jaskier called out. "Mind bringing me too something to eat?" 

"I'm not your server," came the expected reply. A while later Geralt picked up a portion of their provisions from a saddlebag and sat next to Jaskier. Wordlessly he handed half to the bard and bit into his. 

"So, what's the plan? There won't be light for more than a couple more hours to take that trail. You're not planning on us to sleep on a ledge, right? If you are, you've clearly lost your mind and are seeking all of our demise, " Jaskier questioned. "And I very much protest that idea, just so you know." 

"There's an abandoned hunting cabin on top of the hill. We'll reach it before nightfall. As long as you don't slow us down," Geralt swallowed last of his food getting up. 

"Sounds luxurious! Depending on how ramshackle it is, we might even have a roof to sleep under," Jaskier quipped feeling at least a bit more ready to continue. Able to spend the night somewhere sheltered did sound enticing after camping outside for the last two weeks. Especially after yesterday's drizzle.

He'd eternally sing praises for past him for buying a waterproof lute case. 

It wasn't as steep of a climb as Jaskier had feared. Sure, his calves were burning and breath hitching but all in all, not the worst hill he had conquered. Having to walk slowly for Roach's sake helped. But it was unfair how Geralt wasn't showing the least of exertion when even the mare was huffing on the narrow path. Aside from long deadly fights, wasn't there anything that could make the man sweat…? Jaskier promptly cut off his wandering thoughts before they could present options. Nope. Not going there. The red on his cheeks was simply from climbing. Nothing more. 

Wistfully he longed to have more air to spare so he could sing to distract himself. Eh, to hell with that. It'd be excellent breathing technique training. 

It wasn't the most stunning performance but he wasn't aiming for wooing anyone so it'd do. Just getting the beats and notes right was enough for now. The climb was suddenly much more pleasant. 

"Shut up," Geralt commanded after ten or so minutes into his practice. 

Jaskier continued as if he hadn't heard Geralt. He could just deal with a rare occurrence of subpar vocals. 

"Jaskier, shut up," Geralt hissed stopping.

"Shut. Up." 

That didn't sound like annoyance. Jaskier cut his singing off abruptly taking stock of Geralt's body language. He looked ready to spring into action at second's notice. Fuck. That was his "there's monsters around" stance. 

Suddenly Jaskier felt very unsafe standing on a ledge, separated from the Witcher by a horse that was too wide to walk past. 

"Um, Geralt? What's stalking us…?" Jaskier whispered knowing he could easily hear him. 

"I don't know yet. I can only faintly hear them for now," Geralt answered trying to catch a glimpse or sniff of the monsters. 

"Them? Oooh, fuck me. Of course it has to be a whole pack," Jaskier muttered. Life just never could be peaceful with the Witcher, could it? Although, that was kind of the point. 

"Do we go on? Turn back? What's the plan?" Sitting ducks, fruits on the lowest branch ready to be picked, fish in a bucket, that's us. Jaskier's nerves were telling him to run and he very dearly wanted to indulge them. 

"Let's continue. It's better to not draw attention to the fact that they've been spotted for now," Geralt swiftly decided urging Roach forward. "We're not far from the place the ledge starts to widen. If we can reach that it'll be much easier to fight." 

"Nekkers. At least five," Geralt informed quietly after a couple minutes of silent climbing. There still weren't visuals but the monsters were close enough to identify by the smell and sounds they made. A lone nekker was a nuisance but multiple spelled bad news especially in a tight space where he wouldn't be able to isolate them to be killed one by one. 

"At least. How reassuring. Your ability to count is unparalleled," Jaskier quipped nervousness coloring his voice. 

"You're welcome to get a more accurate estimation." The widening of the path was approaching. If they just had few minutes more… 

Destiny wasn't that kind. 

There was a nekker peeking over them from the hilltop. And another. And another. Geralt cursed and led Roach to fast trot trusting Jaskier to follow. There was no point trying to be stealthy anymore.

The monsters started to descend with screeches of excitement. They couldn't have found prey in a better spot; all three perfectly lined up for picking with no way to run. 

"Jaskier! Get on Roach!" Geralt yelled unsheathing his sword and assessing the cliff side.

"What?!" 

"Now! Get on her and run!" 

"How the fuck are we supposed to do that?" Jaskier shouted back hauling himself clumsily over Roach's butt and saddlebags. The mare, bless her sturdy heart, tolerated the uncomfortable mounting and stayed perfectly still ears flattened. 

Geralt jumped and clung to the rocky cliff side. 

Without prompting Roach surged forward as fast as she could reversing their marching order and carrying Jaskier towards safety. Her master would eventually follow. 

Throwing a quick _Aard_ at the advancing nekkers Geralt dropped back on the path. The pack of monsters lost their footing and were thrown back by the invisible force. He knew it wouldn't do much more than slow them down. Those ugly bastards with their burrowing skills wouldn't be deterred by a stumble on a steep hill or the fall they'd have to take to reach the ledge. But it would give him more time to run towards a more suitable fighting grounds. With that Geralt took off after his companions. 

Far too soon the first nekker dropped in front of him. With few well placed hits he decapitated it but by then the rest had reached him. Baring his teeth Geralt started to fight trying to keep his back to the rock wall. Only blessing in the situation was that the space was too narrow for all the four nekkers to effectively charge him at the same time. Not that they didn't try. 

Slashing at two aiming from the same side he kicked a third lunging at his leg. All three backed up slightly while the fourth made its move. Surging at Geralt's side it scored a cut and a sword through its heart. Smelling the Witcher's blood in the air the nekkers let out a hungry screech and renewed their attacks with bloodthirsty frenzy. Teeth snapping and claws reaching they tried to tear their prey apart. 

Slash, thrust, parry, the Witcher's sword sang. 

He really hated fighting nekkers in such cramped space Geralt thought disposing the next one. As pack hunters they were coordinated and fast, keeping him from focusing on one or having a second's respite from the attacks. Even after having all but two of them killed the monsters didn't show any hesitation or fear. 

As if confirming his thoughts the nekkers charged him in tandem. The one trying to claw his neck open swiftly met its demise but the other managed to sink its teeth deep into Geralt's thigh. With a shout the Witcher skewered the last one making its jaw slacken and release his leg. 

Panting, sword ready, Geralt surveyed the area scanning for new threats. Satisfied he sheathed his sword and turned his attention to his wounds that were starting to make themselves known. Some scratches that barely warranted a mention and the cut on his side was shallower than he had predicted. Only his thigh was a pressing issue. The monster's teeth had sunk deep and left an uneven, heavily bleeding wound. At least it hadn't hit an artery or he would already be well on his way to bleeding to death. 

Unbuckling his belt Geralt started to make a torque for it. Wouldn't help much especially as he would have to walk. But there really wasn't anything else he could do without the supplies in his saddlebags. 

With that Geralt started to make his way up the path. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't sleep so here's the second chapter only hours after the first.

"Roach, stop! Stop I say!" Jaskier commanded trying to bring the mare to halt. "I know you do whatever Geralt wants, maybe you understand speech, I don't know, but we need to go back!" 

Roach did slow down but refused to stop. Feeling guilty Jaskier threw his weight backwards holding the reins short, bringing her finally to halt. 

"Sorry girl, sorry. I know that hurt," Jaskier patted her sweaty neck. "Ok, ok, you don't have to go back. I get it. I really do. Geralt wouldn't like it anyway. But I have to!" 

"No, not just to see the fight. I'd get in the way. I'm not an idiot! I know that's the worst possible spot for it so don't look at me like that," Jaskier rambled dismounting and tying Roach to the first sturdy enough looking sapling. "I'd just distract Geralt if I ran into the fray. But he might need me afterwards! You know how he is. All heroic and big bad Witcher who needs no help on the outside but that doesn't matter when he gets hurt. Even if he never would admit it." 

"That's where I come in. We both want our Geralt to come back alive and in one piece. You're absolutely wonderful horse but I'm the one with thumbs and ability to treat wounds," he continued unfastening one of the saddlebags hastily and substituting his lute case for it. 

"So, I'm going to do exactly that. Patch him up and kiss his wounds better. Well, sans the kissing. I think I wouldn't live to see another minute," giving one more pat Jaskier turned on his heels and started jogging back the bag slung over his shoulder. "Don't worry dear, I'll bring him back!" 

Roach had traversed surprisingly long distance in the time it had taken him to rein her in. Thankfully running down hill with panic making his legs fly was much faster than the climb. He wasn't sure if not hearing fighting or anything else was a good thing or a bad thing.

Turning one more bend Jaskier almost crashed into Geralt who was slowly limping forward leaning heavily on the rock wall. 

"Geralt! You're alive! I mean, I knew a few nekkers wouldn't do you in but they're still dangerous and this bloody ledge…" Jaskier exclaimed breathlessly, happy to see the other man. 

"Aaand of course you're hurt," Jaskier stopped spotting Geralt's leg. "Sit down and let me see." 

"I'm fine. Just hand me the bag," Geralt said gingerly lowering himself to the ground.

Jaskier was getting more and more worried the longer Geralt kept from scolding him. Where were the growls about him having ran back? The grumbles about reckless poets? Something was more wrong than he had thought seeing Geralt walking. Kneeling Jaskier placed the bag in between them and reached to touch the belt circling Geralt's leg only to have his hand swatted away. 

"The saddlebag." 

There was the familiar growl. Using Geralt's distraction with picking a potion from the bag Jaskier moved closer so he had a better view of the wound. It was an ugly thing even with Geralt's pant leg in the way. 

"Oof! That looks bad. How much blood have you lost?" Jaskier asked with wide eyes. A quick glance revealed a trail of red drops leading down the path. "Geralt?" 

"Hmm," came the noncommittal reply. Opening the bottle Geralt poured the contents into the damaged flesh. With an angry sizzle the wound started to knit closed with an astonishing speed. After it had done its job the wound was much shallower and had almost stopped bleeding. 

"Neat. You still didn't answer me though," Jaskier raised his brow grabbing a roll of bandages for more traditional treatment. "And where else are you hurt? I won't believe for a second that's the only one. I'm prepared to pat you down so better fess up." 

Geralt unbuckled his belt and vaguely gestured to his side. "A small cut made from claws. Nothing needing immediate attention." 

"Right, right. You're a stoic Witcher, far removed from the weaknesses of the common man. Can I bandage your thigh now? It's still oozing if you didn't notice. I bet you don't have a drop to spare," Jaskier advanced with his gauze. "You're looking downright ghastly!" 

With a sigh Geralt nodded his acceptance and Jaskier almost pounced on the chance to do something concrete to help. He hated, _hated_ , seeing the Witcher hurt. It was far too common yet something Jaskier never got used to. The more he had to witness the new wounds of the hunts Geralt accumulated the more they bothered him. If it was possible Jaskier would prevent every blow the Witcher took. But he was powerless to do so. Jaskier wasn't fragile but he was a mere human. No match to the monstrosities Geralt regularly fought. 

The thigh taken care of as well as was possible at the moment Jaskier switched his attention to the spot Geralt had indicated. It really was almost a scratch Jaskier found out. Not Geralt downplaying his wound as he had feared. It would still need cleaning and bandaging but a cursory treatment would be enough for now. 

"Anything else?" 

"No." 

"Liar," Jaskier said softly tracing a red line on Geralt's cheek with his thumb. 

For a moment everything froze. 

Both men stared startled at each other. Then Geralt jerked his face away and Jaskier quickly removed his hand as if burned. 

"Okay! Now that I'm sure you won't suddenly drop dead, we should get back to Roach. I promised her to deliver you," Jaskier clapped his hands with false cheer. "I hope you can walk or I'll have to give you the saddest piggyback ride in history." 

Geralt got to his feet ignoring the way his head rushed with blood loss, making the world dim for a bit. Before he managed to take even a single step Jaskier ducked under his arm to help him stay stable. 

"You're not putting anymore weight on that leg than you have to," he explained. "I won't stand for any grumbling so you can skip your complaints. I'm not stepping away and there's nothing you can do about it." 

Geralt did, in fact, complain. To no avail as Jaskier had promised. Slowly the duo made their way up the path. 

As the minutes ticked by Geralt started to lean more and more on the bard. At first Jaskier had filled the walk with idle chatter in attempt to keep things somewhat normal but as the weight on his shoulders increased he had to save every breath and focus on his steps. If he stumbled they would go down with the way Geralt was almost hanging off his shoulders. Gods, the Witcher was heavy. Even if he was still on his feet. 

"Geralt? You still with me?" Jaskier asked worried. 

"...Yes… Yes," Geralt repeated with more conviction taking a bit of his weight off Jaskier. "How far did Roach take you?" 

"Nice to know you've made up your mind which one of us was in control," Jaskier sighed dramatically. "She's just behind that bend. We're almost there." 

Indeed, rounding the corner there was Roach. The chestnut mare was dancing in place, ears flicking nervously and nostrils flaring. Spotting the men she threw her head giving a neigh in welcome. Jaskier was sure he had never been as glad to see the mare as he was at that moment. Propping Geralt against her he took a deep breath. 

"Which way?" 

"What?" 

"The cabin Geralt. Which way is it?" Jaskier asked fixing the saddlebag back in place. "We're not staying here a second longer than we have to. You need rest."

"I'm fine," Geralt protested clutching a handful of Roach's mane. 

"Great! You can demonstrate your fineness by pointing the way. While on Roach. I'm sure she wants to wipe the memory of someone else than you riding her." Jaskier was already trying to manhandle Geralt into a spot he could mount from. It took some effort on everybody's part but finally the Witcher was safely in the saddle. 

Holding the reins Jaskier quietly walked towards the direction Geralt had pointed. Something was wrong. Well, there were many things wrong, a hole in Geralt's thigh and a bandage on it that had acquired a blooming red spot during their trek being the most obvious. But he felt like he was missing something. 

Glancing at the slumped Witcher Jaskier tried to figure out what was niggling at him under all the worry he had for the man. The rapidly darkening sky wasn't helping his unease in the slightest either. Roach gave a sudden tug at the reins nervously and things started to fall in place. She wasn't the kind to get spooked and definitely not without an actual cause. 

There had to be something near them to make her this skittish. 

"Bloody hell," Jaskier swore. Why hadn't he thought about it earlier? "How many nekkers were there?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Nekkers Geralt, nekkers. How many?" 

"Five."

"Your at least five turned out to be exactly five? I don't like this," Jaskier muttered. 

"You don't like my senses having been right?" Geralt asked sounding confused. He was peering at the bard with yellow eyes underlined with deep shadows. 

"This time? No. No I don't," Jaskier shook his head. "Roach is on edge and I've never seen her like this before. Can you focus on what's going on around us? Try to spot if there's something moving?" 

Geralt straightened in the saddle staying quiet, tilting his head and sniffing like a wolf. Eventually he spoke again. "There's still nekkers. Two. They must have separated from the pack before they got close enough to find us."

"Two or at least two?" 

"Two." 

"Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. I do love this path Geralt. So many ways to die on it."

"I had no problems last time. Maybe you're just bad luck." 

Roach's snort brought their whispered conversation to halt. For a while they walked in silence. 

"Give me your sword," Jaskier broke the quiet. 

"No." 

"I'm serious Geralt. Right now I'm the only one who can do anything about them. And that's only if I have an actual weapon," Jaskier sounded more grave than Geralt could remember him ever being. "I will use the stiletto in my boot if I have to but we both know that I'll be dead if the nekkers get that close to me." 

"Jaskier, no. I can-" Geralt didn't get to tell what he could do. 

Jaskier grabbed and pulled. Losing his balance Geralt would have fallen if hands hadn't steadied him when he was almost nose to nose with the smaller man.

"The fuck?" Geralt breathed, not knowing which side was up after the sudden movement. He wasn't even sure he wouldn't vomit with the way the world kept spinning. "What the fuck was that for?" 

"Demonstration. And a theft," Jaskier was pushing him upright again. "I could take you on right now Geralt. Me. You're not in any shape to fight." 

Having his balance more or less back Geralt looked down at the bard. And spotted something silver laying on the ground. His sword.

"You bastard!" he snarled and tried to dismount. But Jaskier somehow managed to keep him in the saddle. Geralt had no idea how.

"Give that back," there was nothing calm about his tone yet it felt like a thick wool blanket was being placed on him, muffling the sounds and making the world soft around the edges. He was starting to forget what had upset him. 

He lost time between blinks. He had been fighting with Jaskier but now he was sitting slumped in the saddle looking at the derelict hunting cabin they had been aiming for for. It was still some distance away but he could have sworn it hadn't been within the eyesight before. 

"Jaskier…?" Geralt ventured. 

"Nice of you to join us again," there was tightness in Jaskier's whispering voice. "How are you feeling? I might have been a bit too rough on you. All out of necessity but still. I'm sorry." 

Jaskier truly was sorry. He hadn't meant to cause Geralt to faint and he probably should have seen it coming with the way he manhandled him. But Jaskier also didn't have the time to waste on arguing about whether or not he should arm himself or let Geralt who wouldn't be able to stand up try to protect them. One of those scenarios the Witcher could survive and it didn't involve Geralt touching a sword. And Jaskier would be damned if he let Geralt sacrifice himself. 

They were so close yet so far from the relative safety of the cabin. He couldn't summon the faith that they'd reach it before they were hunted down. Not after how the afternoon had gone. The silver sword in his hand was heavy yet it had nothing on his heart. 

If he trusted that Geralt wouldn't fall off he would have thrown caution to the wind and made a dash right then and there. But no, the deathly pale man was barely holding on as he was. Speeding up would topple him to the ground where Jaskier would have no chance at all of keeping him alive. He wouldn't be strong enough to haul him back in the saddle or drag him to the cabin fast enough. Or protect him from the monsters once they reached them. 

"I'm… not sure," came Geralt's belated but honest answer. 

"Could be worse then," Jaskier concluded. It always could be. Until someone was dead. You couldn't do much worse than death. But he was a master of forced levity and he would put it to good use. 

Perfect, Jaskier thought. 

There was a monster coming for them, a half unconscious Witcher, a loyal horse and a silver sword he could barely hold up. Just as he had planned his evening going. 

See? Maybe his inner monolog needed some work still but he refused to leave this world feeling sorry for himself. 

Gritting his teeth Jaskier flashed a smile at dazed Geralt and turned around hearing a twig snap behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier decided to be too talkative and now this turned into a three chapter instead of two.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It got a bit more violent than I expected but it's the Witcher so nothing here exceeds the canon.

As he had feared, there were two pairs of eyes gleaming with the last rays of the sunlight. The time was up. 

Jaskier might have tried to act collected when talking to Geralt but in truth he was absolutely terrified. He wasn't made for this. Not made for fighting monsters. Not made to keep someone from gruesome and violent death. He was a bard, a poet, a lover. Not a fighter. He never had been. 

But he would. Melitele witness him, he would fight with all he had for the slim chance of them getting out of here alive. For every breath, for every heartbeat. 

Letting go of the reins Jaskier gave a soft push on Roach's butt silently urging her to keep going as she passed him. The mare would do her best to keep Geralt safe. She was more kind and loyal than many men Jaskier knew. Pang of worry pierced his heart when he realized Geralt hadn't yet taken notice of the situation. The Witcher was far too out of it to be any help. Not that he had planned on Geralt saving them this time. But he wouldn't be able to defend himself at all if he didn't snap out of it. Yet Jaskier didn't dare to make a sound and disturb the eerie stillness that had fallen over them. One move and it would all turn into chaos. 

A growl was starting to emanate from the nekkers. Jaskier lifted Geralt's sword slowly with both hands and adjusted his grip. It felt both strange and familiar. It had been years since the last time he had held a sword and even longer since he had used one. And none had been like Geralt's. 

It was masterfully forged, beautifully balanced and sharpened to perfection. It also was too long and heavy for him. 

Readying himself for the attack Jaskier slid his feet in a stance he hoped was close to the one he had learned all those years ago. For a short, absurd moment the incredulous face of his old teacher if the man knew what was happening flashed in his mind. Then there was no more time for distractions. The nekkers charged him, more interested in the smaller prey staying behind than the one getting farther away. Just as he had hoped. If they were focusing on him, then Geralt and Roach would be safe for that much longer. 

There was nothing beautiful about the way he fought. His blade wasn't singing and his feet weren't dancing. 

It was pure desperation and primal survival instinct. Panting for breath, sweating from fear and the exertion, stumbling on the uneven ground and squinting his eyes in the darkening evening trying to track every movement the monsters made. He didn't succeed. More often than not a lunge from a nekker gave him a new line of flaring pain. Jaskier wasn't sure how he had managed to keep from being gravely wounded or incapacitated during the short fray but he knew it wouldn't take long. 

Suddenly, his sword found its mark in a nekker's chest. Arms shaking from the weight Jaskier yanked the blade out of the corpse only to see the surviving one burrow in the ground. 

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jaskier wheezed starting to run to Geralt as quickly as his trembling legs carried him. It wasn't very fast. 

Roach had brought him so close to the cabin. And Jaskier had killed one half of the monsters. This couldn't end in a tragedy. Not now. Not ever. Geralt wasn't going to die because of stupid nekkers. He wouldn't! 

The nekker burst from the ground next to Roach, aiming for her legs. With impressive reflexes born from years as a Witcher's horse the mare leaped and managed to avoid the monster. Geralt teetered dangerously in the saddle but held on. Shaking his head Geralt tried to take stock of the surroundings and what had made Roach break her smooth gait. Noticing the monster he feebly lifted his hand to unsheath his steel sword. 

In blind panic Jaskier grabbed his songbook from his doublet's inner pocket. And chucked it at the nekker. 

He could have laughed at the way the book miraculously bounced off the monster's head if he had enough air to do so. It stopped its attack, dumbfounded about the hit. Jaskier knew he hadn't thrown it hard enough to actually hurt the creature but it worked as a distraction. He would have liked to say it had been the plan all along but he hadn't thought at all about what he was doing. 

"Roach, go!" Jaskier managed skidding to halt next to the nekker, lifting the sword again. 

"No, I need to help…" Geralt slurred finally having a vague idea about what was going on. 

For once, Roach took orders from someone else than her owner. She took off as fast as she dared, almost in a mirror image of earlier. 

Just one more. One more. The sword was torturously heavy in Jaskier's hands. But he could do this. He had to. He had lost count of the times Geralt had saved him from various things. Jaskier could do it this one time, return the favor. He refused any other option. There was no _fucking way_ he would let the man he loved die. 

Baring his teeth Jaskier slashed the blade, missing his mark. The nekker retaliated with snapping teeth that he managed to barely avoid, sleeve torn. With rapid thrusts he tried to skewer his foe but the bastard was fast and Jaskier exhausted. Hitting nothing but air he pivoted on his heels, refusing to let the monster get behind him yet he still felt claws scratch his back. He was too slow, too tired, fueled only by adrenaline and desperation. His arms screamed at him to let go of the sword, legs begging for collapse. Tears were starting to gather in his eyes, blurring his sight. But Jaskier continued fighting. 

It happened in a blink of an eye. One second he was parrying an attack, the next he was on his back on the ground with sharp teeth only inches from his throat, only Geralt's sword separating him from death as he held it flat in between them. With a terrified gasp and panicked eyes Jaskier took a gamble. Switching his grip on the sword he flipped it so that the razor sharp edge was their separating barrier and thrust upwards with a strangled yell. 

The blade left a bloody line on his throat and cut deep into his left hand. But the nekker hadn't expected such a move. With a gurgle it slumped on top of Jaskier. 

For a moment he simply laid there, nekker's blood drenching his ruined clothes. Eventually his faculties returned to him and Jaskier squirmed away from the corpse pinning him down. With something between a sob and a retch he forced himself on his knees, head hanging low. He had to get to Geralt. Make sure the Witcher was okay. But he was so tired. Lifting his head Jaskier seeked Roach out. She was standing next to the cabin door but Geralt wasn't sitting on her back anymore. 

Air left his lungs in a panicked huff. It seemed to be the only emotion he knew how to feel anymore. That and terror. 

It took far too much effort to get to his feet, using the sword to drag himself up. The shaky steps, managed only by the support of the blade were worse. Slowly, so slowly he crossed the distance to the worried mare. 

He could see Geralt now, laying on the ground, deathly pale in the first dark of the evening. Dropping to his knees Jaskier reached a shaking hand to find Geralt's slow pulse, accidentally smearing blood on him. His foggy brain took a moment to remember the Witcher's heart beating slower than a human's. With a relieved sigh Jaskier realized Geralt's was within safe margin. The man had succumbed to the exhaustion of severe bloodloss but not dying. 

With that he sat and tried to think of the next step. His brain wasn't cooperating very well. Ah yes, the cabin. They needed to get in. It'd be safer there. Even if Jaskier wasn't sure anywhere was safe right now. 

The door was closed. He would have to open it. And drag Geralt in. Jaskier didn't notice he had started to cry just thinking about having to move before the drops hit his hands. He was just so utterly spent. Something soft bumped him gently making him flinch. Roach, it was just Roach. 

"Hey girl. You were amazing. Keeping Geralt safe and sound," Jaskier managed to whisper brokenly petting the velvety muzzle huffing warm air against his cheek. "Can you help me up?" 

Another huff. He decided to take it as an agreement. 

Jaskier carded his hands through Roach's mane, closing his fists and clinging to it. Eventually he managed to stand up again, assisted by Roach lifting her head. Then came the struggle of walking the few steps to the door to open it and returning to Geralt's side. Patiently the mare matched each halting step Jaskier took. 

"Thank you Roach," Jaskier said sincerely leaning against her. 

Looking down at Geralt he tried to figure out how to get the man into the cabin. Normally he appreciated his physique but right now it was nothing but an obstacle. Not to mention the armor. Jaskier would have liked to remove it but his hands shook too much to manage the multiple buckles fastening it. 

No way around it. Jaskier bent down and took hold of Geralt's arms and heaved. With a whine he took a step back. And another. And another. Inch by painful inch he dragged the Witcher's unconscious body towards the open doorway. The incredibly short distance seemed to take hours, Roach matching his pace next to him, seemingly offering her support in spirit. 

Finally his legs crossed the threshold. With couple final heaves Geralt was inside and Jaskier let go of his arms. With few stumbling steps he returned to the doorway. 

"Good girl," he mumbled to Roach, closed the door and collapsed against it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roach is the sweetest and Jaskier keeps making this story longer and longer.
> 
> Also, you can pry the headcanon that Jaskier has had formal sword fighting training when he was young from my cold dead hands. He never was particularly good at it or interested in and dropped it as soon as he could.


	4. Chapter 4

Geralt woke up in pain. Which was common enough. But usually he knew where he was. 

He was staring at a broken ceiling, surrounded by an overwhelming coppery stench. Blood, his brain supplied rebooting itself. His leg couldn't have bled enough to cause the smell, which meant… 

"Jaskier!" Geralt called out spotting the crumpled form of the bard at his feet, partly leaning on the door. "Jaskier!" 

There wasn't even a stir. Geralt clambered up on his knees ignoring the stab of pain his bad leg gave in protest and reached out to him. The man was completely limp and his torn clothes were absolutely drenched in blood. For a short heart stopping moment Geralt was sure it was all Jaskier's. Then the scents aligned. While there was undeniable amount of human blood, the majority coating his front was nekker's which told everything he needed for now.

Geralt laid the bard down on the floor feeling wetness on his back and practically ripped Jaskier's already shredded chemise open to see the damage inflicted to his torso. 

Mostly shallow scratches already congealed with only few more serious ones still slightly oozing. Nothing threatening. Left palm had a deep clean cut, one that seemed out of place compared to other wounds, that would need stitches. A similar but blessedly far more shallow wound stretched across his throat Geralt noted with a frown. Quickly turning Jaskier over he removed the clothing obscuring his back revealing claw marks that seemed to have been made worse by something. At least his legs seemed almost untouched. He could tell just from brief touches that nothing was broken or bleeding anymore. Hastily binding Jaskier's hand and back with the remains of the poet's shirt he got up to find Roach and the medical supplies she carried.

Opening the door he almost hit the grazing mare. 

Roach didn't seem offended in the least and gave a delighted neigh and gently pressed her head against Geralt's chest. He petted her forehead absent mindedly, picking his silver sword from the ground and moved to the saddlebags. Grabbing also Jaskier's lute case as well as most of their camping gear Geralt spotted blood in Roach's mane and handprints on her neck. Relieved she was unhurt herself he hurriedly stumbled back inside and dropped the gear in the first empty spot. 

Jaskier was in the exact same position as he had left him, laying still and pale. It didn't suit the energetic man in the least. He was supposed to be loud, dramatic and constantly moving. 

Geralt started to clean Jaskier's still bleeding hand, readying it for stitches. The wound looked like it had been made by a sword. And not something you'd easily get from an error handling the blade. A strange thing to aquire during a fight against monsters, even for someone who didn't have the slightest clue about sword fighting. One on his throat even more perplexing. Finishing last of the stitches he could already hear the bard's complains about not being able to play his lute for a while. Deep down Geralt had to admit to himself that he'd miss the music. 

Hand taken care of, he moved to the second most serious wound, the four claw marks on Jaskier's back. With the way the wounds had torn there was no way they wouldn't scar Geralt mused. For a moment he wondered what Jaskier had done to worsen his injury until he realized that Jaskier would have had to drag him inside the cabin.

After getting wounded apparently. 

Gritting his teeth and forcing his fists open Geralt continued the treatment, trying to smother the flash of hot anger. That wasn't Jaskier's job. He wasn't supposed to fight and definitely not get hurt for his behalf. It… sent a chill down his spine. The mere idea felt so wrong. 

Eventually Geralt finished with everything he could do for Jaskier's health for now. Feeling restless he spread one of the blankets on the floor and moved Jaskier to lay on it. Covering him with the other one, Geralt couldn't help but think about the last time he had done so. Staring at the pale face he gently brushed Jaskier's hair out of his forehead. It was slightly stuck with dried sweat but Geralt kept carding a hand through it until it felt soft again. Something about the motion was calming, reassuring him the bard wasn't about to die or disappear in thin air. 

With a tired sigh Geralt leaned against the door frame, placed his silver sword next to himself and settled to keep vigil. He wasn't about to trust into the safety of the cabin after the day they had. 

Jaskier woke up in pain. Which was uncommon. Not knowing where he was… That at least was slightly more familiar. 

With a suffering groan he refused to move and scrunched his face in displeasure. This was not the way he wanted to start his day, thank you very much. Awakening in a soft bed next to a warm body, feeling both rested and languid, that's how it should be. 

"Jaskier? You awake?" came Geralt's voice prompting him to open his eyes. 

Ah, that was better. The Witcher's face was hovering over his, although regrettably long distance away. It truly was a sight for sore eyes with it's familiar frown and alert eyes so different from the last time he had seen him. 

"Morning," Jaskier croaked. Gods, speaking hurt. Lifting his hand to his neck he found gauze circling it. The cut might not be deep, at least he thought it was almost a scratch, but it still was highly unpleasant to feel it stretch with even the tiny movements speaking made. 

"Glad to see you're awake and alert Geralt," not that he would stay silent. 

"What the fuck happened Jaskier?" Geralt demanded with an angry growl. 

"You don't remember?" Jaskier asked suddenly worried. "Nekkers. It was nekkers." 

"I know that. What happened after the cabin came within sight?" the Witcher specified not sounding any calmer. 

"You blacked out, leaving the heroics to me for once. I did admirable work of it as you can see since we're both alive. And Roach," Jaskier smiled spreading his arms to emphasize the fact. And promptly decided that his arms were too tired for grand gestures.

"Details Jaskier!" Geralt slammed his fist on the floor next to the bard's head, making him flinch violently. 

"Oi, calm down! Jeez. I just woke up, in pain, after the most horrible evening of my life, and you roar and act like a barbarian," Jaskier complained rubbing his forehead and slowing his hitching breath. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack Geralt? Really? Undo all my hard work of keeping us from dying?" 

Clenching his teeth Geralt repeated the question in a slightly calmer tone. 

"Thank you for asking so nicely," Jaskier needled him. "So, I put my training with swords to good use and-" 

"Your what now?" came the incredulous interruption. 

"Training. In sword fighting. But it was years ago and I always hated it so don't get excited. I absolutely will not become your training buddy," Jaskier swore sitting up slowly despite his body's protests. 

With that he launched into the story, embellishing parts and completely ignoring other. Geralt didn't say a word before the bard reached the climax of how he had killed the last nekker. 

"That. Must have been the worst, stupidest move I've heard of in my life," Geralt stated with inscrutable expression. 

"I would have died anyway. At least if I had failed I wouldn't have had my throat ripped open by teeth or been eaten alive Geralt," Jaskier whispered averting his eyes. And Geralt would have joined him in death soon. Even thinking about it all sent a shiver down his spine. 

A hand landed on his shoulder and Jaskier flinched reflexively again, not expecting physical contact or seeing Geralt move. The warm pressure disappeared immediately and he cursed his body's reaction. He was already yearning for that touch to come back. But he just couldn't summon the words to tell so. 

"I, uh, sorry." 

"Hmmm." 

With that they lapsed in silence. 

"Where's my shirt?" Jaskier suddenly asked realizing he was naked waist up. 

"Gone." 

"Geralt!" 

"It's gone. Unless you count blood soaked rags as one." There was a smirk lurking in the corners of Geralt's mouth. 

"Uuuugh! And it was such a stunning one," Jaskier moaned in exaggerated despair. "Talking about bloody things, how's your thigh?" 

"Good. It should be healed by tomorrow." 

Witchers and their ridiculously fast healing Jaskier thought with envy. 

"I'm glad. So glad. Seeing you like you were yesterday, it was yesterday wasn't it, I… really hated it. Please try not to repeat it. Doesn't suit you at all!" Jaskier said with a sincere smile and worry hidden under it. 

"Noted," Geralt huffed amused, offering a water skin to him. 

Taking it gingerly Jaskier swallowed nervously and finally ventured, his good mood draining. "Geralt, my hand…?" 

"It'll heal. You won't be playing your lute anytime soon but you will. You didn't wound it permanently," Geralt reassured him. 

Jaskier closed his eyes and gave a long, shaky sigh. He didn't know what he would have done if he had. He could have still sang but… It wouldn't have been the same. Even close to it. His music was such an integral part of his life, _himself_ , that losing even part of it filled him with bone deep ache just thinking about it. 

"Jaskier…" Geralt's hand was hovering like he wanted to touch but didn't know if he was allowed. 

Jaskier leaned against it and slowly kept moving, giving Geralt time to stop him if he wanted, until his forehead rested against the Witcher's tense shoulder. Just silently staying there, breathing and taking solace in the other man, needing it after everything that had happened. A while later he felt Geralt's hand come to rest against his back. 

It didn't last as long as Jaskier would have loved, in all honesty he thought he could spend a whole day like that. But he could feel Geralt starting to get uncomfortable with the closeness and physical contact so he straightened his back and smiled softly in thanks. 

They wouldn't be leaving the derelict cabin for a while. Maybe he would have time and permission to do that again later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually finished it!
> 
> I hope you had as much fun reading as I had writing this. I already have another one shot idea (maybe it will also stay as one...) so I guess we'll see soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp! This ended up being too long for an one shot so I'm cutting it in half. The next part isn't finished yet but I'm working on it.


End file.
